Cauterized

random romance oneshot

Prompt: OK, ummm so this girl sees this guy playing his guitar on the street so she starts singing with him and then they fall in love

On average you interact with 80000 people in about year. It is easy to forget names and faces or what you even did with them. The odds of someone being your true love is 1%, so what's the point in believing in it. What's the point of looking when the stats are so low? It's easy to ignore it but humans are desperate to find their fairytale ending. They want to find their Romeo or Juliet that will lessen the pain of the world.

The Internet makes finding that 1% a little bit easier. The Internet dating business is successful if you have stats and even more successful if you have accurate ones. That is my job. To tell you things like how Jose won't love you as much as Levi will because he is more interested in reading. You may only see him as a name, but I see his face and preferences because I know how to run my business. 73% of my customers are satisfied with my services after one date. 8% are unsatisfied and 19% didn't answer the survey. This survey is out of almost two million people. I love my statistics and helping people find love.

You make think why haven't I found love for myself? I don't have a sob story about how the man I was planning on marrying left me naked crying in a motel. I don't have the biography about how I am above love and that I am strong and independent without it. I'm not entirely looking for my Edward Cullen sparkle prince either. I'm looking for my unknown statistic: love at first sight. The ultimate cliché. The plot to a Jennifer Aniston movie. A romcom at it's finest.

It's difficult going through thousands of online profiles and imagining yourself falling in love with them, whether you would have kids or not and how big of a house you would have. For a second you think you have found the one but then you remember that was the same thing you thought after staring at that other profile for a longtime. It feels stressful. It feels like I am going to die alone staring at a computer screen still trying to find love. I need to go to the back alley.

This is where you have your drug deals, stabbings and homeless men and miles of graffiti. This is where I feel empowered. They treat me like I was their neglectful god, unloved and evil. Like everyone else feels, not a wealthy and lonely statistician. It totally beats staring at that computer screen.

I find John to be here again and an addict getting his fix. He is a sweet old man fast asleep on a pile of trash. His family couldn't afford a retirement home so they dumped him on the streets. He rambles a lot of crazy things but sometimes he makes perfect sense and teaches me life lessons when I'm still young. I offer to buy him lunch while he talks about how it's not his fault that my arm is purple yet he is nodding. I imagine that he was once a Greek sailor trying to become a connoisseur of foods all around the world. He would be too refined for street meat so I'll get him some Korean barbecue.

The mumbling of an addict in the background changes to the strumming of a guitar. It's acoustic with nylon strings. I slide down the wall across from the man tuning the guitar and watch. He looks at me with brown eyes and a fringe of curly hair with the rest tied back. He strangely reminded me of Hozier. I need to do something quick. I bat my eyelashes and smile gently. I can't say anything. He intimidates me somehow but here I am still staring. He laughs at me melodiously, and winks. I think I might have sat on glass. I should get up and leave. He might start playing soon though. He smells like cinnamon. Does that make him feminine or is just something he ate? I feel the need to find out. He's playing the guitar now. His voice sounds just as nice as his laugh. I want to hear my voice with his.

I chime in with, "I'm the light blinking at the end of the road~ blink back to let me know," and he bats his eyelashes instantly. Now it's my turn to laugh. To say I am madly in love is an understatement. I need a stronger word for it is more mad like the march hare rather than the hatter. This isn't a statistic but pure luck.